


A Sum of Every Part

by MarigoldVance



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: (i don't know how to tag this), F/M, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Prompt Fill, WinterFRE2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22756369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: Anders has had eight significant relationships, each one contributing to who he is, who he becomes.The ninth promises to be better than them all.
Relationships: Anders Johnson/John Mitchell
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	A Sum of Every Part

**Author's Note:**

> this started as FíKí then transformed into Britchell because those two were scratching for attention XD if anyone is interested in reading the first bit as it was meant to be (FíKí), let me know and i'll post it to my [Tumblr](https://marigoldvance.tumblr.com/post/190936879312/prompt-44)!

When Anders was five, he had one friend who didn’t attend his school.

In class, Anders was giggly and friendly; he participated well enough – opened his box of crayons to those who didn’t have the rainbow of colors he did or helped with spelling (he was an excellent speller). Yet, when it came time for recess, he preferred to play alone, tucked under the slide pretending he was Indiana Jones on some far-flung adventure, doodling his discoveries in a journal his grandfather had gifted him for his birthday.

Concerned with his social development, his teachers spoke to his parents who, in turn, scolded Anders for _being antisocial_ , demanded that he _make an effort_. His mother forced him to play more with his older brother, Mike. Mike didn’t mind including Anders in swordfights and hide-n-seek and Simon Says but Anders was absolutely forbidden from _touching_ Mike’s toys, _no babies allowed!_

So, when Mike would play action-figures, Anders would wander the woods behind the house and play pretend by himself. Anders didn’t whine to their parents, didn’t tantrum, because he had a good imagination and, after a random encounter by the stream when he was being an explorer, he had Malcolm.

Malcolm was different than anyone Anders knew. He spoke like an older kid even though he looked Anders’ age; he never talked to Anders like Anders was an idiot, never rolled his eyes or struggled to answer Anders’ questions or accused Anders of being a liar. Not like Anders’ mother who had once spanked Anders for lying when he told her he found a sword in his father’s _private chest_. He knew he shouldn’t have rummaged through it, but Malcolm thought it would be fun and Anders didn’t want Malcolm to think he was a baby like Mike did.

Malcolm taught Anders how to tie his shoes without help and how to whistle. He showed Anders how to climb trees and would sneak into Anders’ room at night when Anders’ parents were fighting, tell stories until Anders fell asleep. He never questioned it, never wondered why Malcolm wasn’t home in his own bed being tucked in by his mother (Malcolm said his mother was a nice woman who baked cookies on Christmas and sang him lullabies when he was sick. She sounded wonderful).

When Anders was six, his father made them move.

±±±

In Year 9, Anders met Irene. She was tough and boyish and liked doing things she wasn’t supposed to. On their third day, Irene made Anders her friend. He didn’t argue. After all, he was small for his age and wiry-thin and she was strong enough to push the bullies away with _one hand_. Plus, Irene was nice to look at, the way Anders found certain flowers in his neighbor’s garden nice to look at. She was dark and thick and had eyes like all the colors of the forest behind his house.

For awhile, Anders thought he had a crush on her. When he confessed, she laughed in his face, put her arm around his shoulders, shook him and said, “ _I’m just the only girl who’s ever been nice to you. You don’t know what you like_.” And she was right.

Over the summer, she taught Anders how to fight with observation; how to cut deep with words. She made him promise to try and stand up for himself. He didn’t ask why she was set on making it so he could, in some way, defend himself against guys like Arno and his cricket team jerks.

Before Year 10, Anders’ mother packed their clothes and nothing else and drove them further up the coast.

±±±

The girl Anders lost his virginity to was Tenisha Himona when they were both barely fifteen. They had kissed for the first time at Jason Lahey’s birthday to some 80s song about black velvet and held hands everyday after that. Tenisha insisted they weren’t dating (she was the sort of girl who didn’t want or need a guy to satisfy her, whatever that meant).

Truth be told, Anders didn’t know it was going to happen, especially not on the blanket Tenisha had snagged from his bedroom and spread out on the ground in the shadows just beyond the treeline that framed Anders’ backyard. The air was chilly and damp with the hint of winter, and Anders didn’t want to take his sweater off. Tenisha said she didn’t care, rolled him onto his back and kissed him dirty – like in the movies she snuck them in to – and opened his fly like she’d done it before.

She rode him, making noises Anders could only compare to the porn he’d found in Mike’s folder on the computer. It was over quickly but Tenisha insisted it was alright, that what they’d done was nice and they would do it again and again until Anders was comfortable and knew how to stick his fingers in the right places and hold out for more than a minute and a half.

Anders didn’t want to go to school when he found out Tenisha was moving to Hawaii to live with her auntie.

±±±

Caleb was Anders’ first boy-kiss and, damn, Anders loved it. Caleb was older, older than Mike, and unfairly gorgeous. All black curls and sea-green eyes and plush red lips that sucked sin into Anders’ hips and around his nipples. They did it on a mattress stuffed comfortably in the back of Caleb’s van – he traveled a lot and didn’t have the desire to settle in an apartment in a place where he wasn’t sure he would stay, not for anybody, not even for Anders’ _sweet ass and godless, cocksucking mouth_.

Anders didn’t give a fuck because he was _getting_ fucked. In all the positions he could imagine, whenever the hell he demanded it. Caleb was perfect. He took his time when Anders was too eager; he used toys when Anders was already frustrated. He flirted seduction and sexed like the Kamasutra and kept the afterglow casual which Anders appreciated. Cuddling was for love and Anders wasn’t sure he wanted love at seventeen.

Anders might’ve missed the sex after Caleb drove away for the last time but, honestly, that was it. No matter what nonsense Ty spouted when Anders was home for more than three consecutive nights.

±±±

Anders had to find a job for Christmas, so help his mother’s soul. He agreed. She was struggling to manage, he knew, even though she refused to admit it.

Axl was too young to understand that they weren’t exactly a shining example of _living comfortably_ and had asked Santa for something his mother decided everyone except Ty would pitch in for.

Anders procured a part-time job working under Mr. Harris who owned a bookshop on the corner of a busy street. Along with books, the shop also boasted the sorts of hipster-knickknacks people loved to spend money on. Leopard print rubber duckies and erasers shaped like sushi and unicorn tape dispensers. The kind of crap Anders rolled his eyes at but was happy to ring up.

Mr. Harris was old, maybe seventy, and he had a lifetime of crude stories that he enjoyed sharing with Anders. Anders enjoyed hearing them. Sometimes he’d stay and help close the shop, offer to walk Mr. Harris to his apartment eight blocks away. Mr. Harris would invite Anders in for a glass of cheap whiskey and they’d laugh about whatever Anders needed to get off his chest while Mr. Harris fed him wise old-man advice.

  
Anders kept working for Mr. Harris well into the start of his school year. Until, one day, he showed up on time to find the shop burned to cinders. Anders had never felt loss the way he did when it started to sink in that he’d never see Mr. Harris again. That, unlike Anders’ father, Mr. Harris could never decide on a whim to come back and Anders could never seek him out.

±±±

Emma saved his life.

Mike changed – _really_ changed; started spending more time out with Rob doing whatever they did on a Wednesday afternoon. Granted, Anders didn’t think he was really allowed to care so much when Mike paid the bills, on time and in full.

Though Mike was the eldest, the responsibility of minding Ty and Axl fell to Anders. Ty was starting college and Axl was in his last year of primary school. Since he had to make sure the house was livable and his brothers had something to eat in the mornings and for supper, Anders was forced to drop his courses and stay home. He hated Mike for it. Mike didn’t pay enough attention to notice.

And then Emma swanned into his life, broody looking with mismatched clothes and a smile that lit up a room when Anders earned it. They didn’t fuck. She was his friend. His _best friend_. Emma helped him prepare meals and told Mike off when Mike was being an irresponsible dickhead.

She distracted Anders when the world started to close in and he suffocated. Gave him a place in the crook of her shoulder when he wanted to cry the stress away but couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t risk waking Ty or Axl because they both had school the following morning. Emma made it okay for Anders to feel vulnerable.

And then he was dragged out to the woods on his twenty-first birthday, given a sword and told to hold it to the sky. Emma vanished from his life before Anders had the opportunity to tell her who he’d become.

±±±

Twenty-eight began as Anders’ worst year. He was struggling to get his company off the ground, had made too many bad decisions to make right and did things Mike and Ty said were deplorable. Anders didn’t trust Mike but to hear that from Ty stung, not that he’d say that aloud.

By then, Anders was an expert at _persuasion_. He’d mastered Bragi’s influence and used it whenever he could because, Christ, the power was delirium and sex and tasted like ambrosia on his tongue every time his blood surged with it. A drug that made the darkness in the corners of his mind recede. However, Bragi wasn’t enough to snag the type of clients Anders wanted to put in his rolodex.

Liam and Lisa were twins.

They were socialites and business owners, lounging rich on their dead father’s fortune. They accepted his shortcomings, guided him through what they expected from Anders without threatening to fire him for his inexperience. On the contrary, Anders was sure they thought it endearing which was fine by him; they paid more than he asked for and invited him to elite parties where he could network.

Lisa was bold, wild, a little unhinged. She drank too much and introduced Anders to cocaine and ecstasy and all the possibilities inhibition prevented a person from seizing. Liam was reserved but not quiet; his hazel eyes said more than his mouth, his gaze smouldering in Anders’ pulse whenever Liam watched him over the rim of his Riedel wine glass.

They showered Anders in luxury and debauched him like a whore.

Liam and Lisa organized a spectacular party to celebrate his thirtieth, the kind only the excessively wealthy could devise, complete with diamonds in every champagne glass and aerial dancers performing above the ballroom for all to gawk at. Neither made an appearance, then or thereafter.

Anders stumbled, still drunk and reeking of sweat and come, into his office the following morning. On his desk, he discovered an unmarked envelope with a cheque written for more money than he’d ever imagined existed in one person’s bank account.

Part of Anders wished he could have thanked them. Most of him wished they would have said goodbye.

±±±

Three years in and they’re no closer to finding the Frigg. Tremors rumble through the earth below the city, harbingers of what will happen if they don’t succeed.

Anders is in bed on his side, awake from too much thinking and not enough vodka. The girl he’d brought home has long since left. He hates being alone. He hates pretending more. She took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet on her way out, snatching any guilt he might have possessed right along with it. 

An itch at the base of his skull is what alerts him first. Then a shiver he shouldn’t feel in the summer tingles down his spine and through his body to rest below his belly. Slowly, he turns onto his other side and stares into the dense shadow splashed across the wall. He should be scared, Anders thinks, or, at the very least, nervous. Instead, he’s calm, at peace, simply waiting for whoever lurks there to show themselves.

After a minute, a man steps into the minimal light and graces Anders with a smile. He takes a long breath through his nose, tips his head back and closes his eyes, smelling the air and, probably, the lingering scents of sex and Anders’ cologne. The man licks his lips as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted before he opens his eyes to take in the sight of Anders lying prone, naked beneath a thin sheet and nothing else.

“What are you doing here?” Anders wonders, dredging up enough snark to raise an eyebrow.

The man chuckles. It’s dark-chocolate and exploring hands and Anders lets it rumble over him, yielding to its charm. “The world’s about to end,” The man says, “And we’ve had so much fun. I don’t feel inclined to lose you.” His eyes are teeth that sink into Anders heart as he parades them up the length of Anders’ body.

“What are you talking about?”

The man huffs, impatient, but his smile never falters, a fondness in its corners as if they’ve had this conversation before. “You know what I’m talking about.” He tells Anders, prowling the distance between them and taking a seat on the bed. His hand comes to settle on the curve of Anders’ hip, trails up and then down to sneak under the sheet and cup the mound of Anders’ arse.

For some reason, Anders isn’t alarmed. He feels safe. There’s a familiarity behind those eyes that Anders can’t quite distinguish. He doesn’t move except to shift and sit up, displacing the man’s hand to rest on his thigh.

“And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

The man’s grin spreads wider, showcasing a mouthful of bright-white fangs that glint in the low light. His eyes are consumed by an inky black and his face becomes sharper, somehow more beautiful. He leans in close, his lips caressing the shell of Anders’ ear when he whispers, “A sum of all your parts.”

Anders shudders, tilts his head to the side.

“ _Mitchell_.”

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: " _44\. Shapeshifter_ "
> 
> this was fun :)


End file.
